The Broken Billionaires Society
by A Black Queen
Summary: A sulking Bruce Wayne, a half-drunk Tony Stark, a pair of shiners, and a holding cell in Gotham City.


**So yeah, here's another one-shot, even though I should be working on my multi chapter fics awaiting an update. *sigh***

**Anyway, t****his story was inspired by a prompt I read somewhere, about two characters meeting in a hospital ER for the first time, waiting for medical attention for their multiple injuries after being on different fights the same night. I had a hard time imagining them in that scenario, but then the idea of both being arrested and sharing the same holding cell came up and well, I had to write that. In case you're wondering, Bruce is 16-17 years old and Tony 21-22 years old here. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

**OoOoO**

**Title: The Broken Billionaires Society. **

"Wait, wait! Is there any chance you could get me a bottle of scotch? You'd be earning yourself a very generous tip." Tony's words were slightly slurred thanks to the alcohol he had consumed before being kindly escorted out of the party/charity ball/banquet or whatever the hell that event he attended to have been. He didn't get the chance to get really drunk, but it was fun to pretend otherwise and see just how exactly people acted when they thought he wouldn't be remembering anything tomorrow.

The middle-aged officer who escorted him to the small, dirty holding cell in the shadowy police station was glaring at him now; anger and contempt clear on his face as he pushed the cell door shut with a little more force than was needed before locking it.

"Is that a yes? A maybe? You think about it, alright? I'll be staying right here," Tony called after the retreating back of the officer, brushing imaginary lint from the rumpled jacket of his sleek blue suit.

It wasn't until he turned around that he noticed there was someone else in the cell with him for the first time. A young man with shaggy dark brown hair falling over his forehead, sitting on the single steel bench of the small holding cell. He was wearing a shabby dark sweatshirt, a pair of dark blue jeans and sneakers. They weren't designer clothes, but they looked a bit too good for a place like this. Not that he was the one to talk, that with his perfectly tailored suit and everything.

Bruce felt Stark's eyes on him, but he didn't react. He continued ignoring the other man as he had been doing since his arrival, keeping his face turned in the opposite direction, his head slightly bowed.

"Hey, look. I even got a cell mate. Awesome! 'Sup, buddy?" Tony called cheerfully, moving closer with a slightly wobbly gait.

The man flopped down beside him on the bench-too close for Bruce's comfort-but he forced himself to stay put. He did, however, clench his jaw as the other man's brown eyes flickered over his face, resigned to the inevitable recognition such scrutiny would surely lead to. Stark was drunk but not stupid, and anyone how had glanced at a newspaper or TV in the last couple of years at the very less knew what Bruce Wayne looked like.

"Whoa, did you ran away from Mommy and Daddy to go to a high school party or something?"

"Not exactly," Bruce replied plainly, schooling his features to hide his surprise at not being recognized. Maybe Stark was really _very_ drunk.

Tony blinked as the kid finally looked at him for a second, looking into too old, deep hazel eyes with a sardonic glint, and catching the glimpse of a wry twitch of lips. There was a split on said lips, as well as a red almost brown tint around his right eye, which Tony was pretty sure was going to be a very impressive black eye in a few hours. Not to mention the red angry scrapes on his knuckles, contrasting with the pale skin of his hands.

So this kid, no older than eighteen, was in a holding cell, with clear signs of having been in a fight. Oookay.

"Hey, we even got matching shiners," Tony pointed at his own hurt eye. "This is like fate or some shit like that."

They lapsed into a heavy silence; Bruce looking away and going back to ignoring him and Tony watching at him with a curious gleam in his eyes.

"I'm Tony, by the way. Tony Stark. In case your parents told you not to talk to strangers or something like that."

Bruce turned to him, giving him a flat look with just a fluttering touch of annoyance. "I know how you are. And you can stop mentioning my parents. They're dead."

"Wow, that sucks. Mine are too. Is that why you go out at night getting drunk and picking fights?"

"I'm not drunk." It was the truth. He had sipped a single beer the whole time he had been in the bar. And the only reason he had even ordered one was to not seem out of place. Not that that had really worked at the end.

"I hear you're not denying the second part." Tony's reply was met with silence. "Did you win?"

"What?"

Tony almost rolled his eyes. "Did you win? You mopped the floor with someone tonight? No, wait. How many?"

The younger man clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the stinging feeling the movement sent to his scraped knuckles. What happened to ignore Stark until he shut up? He wasn't supposed to be _talking_ and stringing him along to keep his inane chatter going.

"Oh, _you!_ Stop being so damn gloomy and antisocial. We're both staying here for the foreseeable future, and I don't know about you, buddy, but I'll rather not die of boredom. So, we can trade tonight's criminal offence stories to pass the time, or I can talk and you can listen."

Still no answer. Not even a flicker of eyes in his direction.

"Oh, I know. We can talk about sex! I love talking about sex. Sex is great! And I don't think you've got a lot of experience about that. I'm an expert in the field so I could give you some tips; it could be like my community service or something." Tony's eyes were gleaming wickedly. "Okay, let's see. I'm not sure if you've gotten past second base even, but I think-"

"Three."

"I'm sorry?" Tony asked.

"I got into a fight with three men."

"Oh, okay. I thought this was going somewhere kinky, but alright. So, three guys, huh? Are we talking three skinny little high school kids or ..."

Bruce glared at him. "They were all older and, at least, three inches taller than me."

"Wait. You took the time to measure their height between punches?" He asked.

"Of course _I did not_. You have to seize your opponent rather than charge in blindly." At Tony's arched eyebrow, he added, "I studied Karate for a few years."

"You did, didn't you. Are your brawl companions in here too?" Tony let a touch of amusement slip in.

"I suppose they all should be here already," Bruce answered, flickering his eyes away briefly.

"Oh?"

"One of them needed medical attention due to a broken nose."

"Broken nose, huh? Okay. Who the fuck are you, anyway?"

"My name is Bruce."

Tony looked at him with narrowed eyes, attempting to determine if this kid was trying to fool him. He searched his face for any trace of a lie but found none. The fact he hadn't wanted to talk about what happened in the first place made it unlikely he was saying it just to brag. Of course, there was also the possibility he was making it all up because he had annoyed him and forced him to talk.

"Why are you in Gotham?" It was the question Bruce had been silently asking himself since he first caught sight of him. Even if Stark's affairs and those of his company weren't something that concerned him or Wayne Enterprises, a visit from Tony Stark to Gotham wasn't exactly inconspicuous for him to not have heard of it.

"We're in Gotham? Whoa, I guess that explains a lot."

Bruce gave him an opaque look.

"Right. So, I was at this party-pretty boring if you ask me, but it had pretty decent booze and hot people-I was with this cute redhead and then out of nowhere this asshole comes out and punch me in the face." He didn't feel the need to mention he had been groping said girl's ass through her tiny purple dress as he nipped at her neck. It was kind of implied by the smug, lazy grin on his face after all. "Guess he thought I was too drunk to fight back, 'cause he was pretty startled when I hit him.

"I was then kindly escorted out of there and into a police car conveniently parked outside, and here I am."

Bruce said nothing, pondering the man's words. Something as petty as that wouldn't have warranted a call to the police, especially considering Stark hadn't initiated the physical confrontation, so he must have pissed off someone powerful, at least in Gotham. And although Stark without a doubt had more power than whoever he had fought with, he was also drunk. If Stark or his people give them troubles later they could simply claim the billionaire had been drunkenly hassling people, making it necessary for the event's security to pull him away and ask him to leave. Stark had refused, making it necessary to call the police to take him away.

Stark's publicly known drinking problem would support that explanation, and cops and security guards, as well as guests, would corroborate it for the right price. That if Stark was even telling the truth.

"Wayne. Your bail has been paid." An officer called, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Tony straightened, looking from the officer pulling the cell door open to the kid getting to his feet beside him.

"Wait, wait, wait! You said your name was Bruce." Tony looked up, catching just a glimpse of the left side of the kids' face; the soft glint in that side's eye. "You're Bruce _fucking_ Wayne."

"That's not exactly what it says on my birth certificate," Bruce replied dryly.

"Ooooh," Tony started, leaning back against the wall. "Guess that cop's comment about stupid rich kids getting into trouble makes more sense now." He watched Wayne walk toward the open door, feeling the sudden strange urge to make him stay, at least just a little longer. "So this is the VIP holding cell, huh? It could definitely use some refinement. I mean, where's the ergonomic sofa and the caviar?" He tsked.

Still standing in the cell, Bruce paused, ignoring Stark's snark and looking up at the officer standing before him. He wasn't the same officer who had escorted him in or Stark for that matter. This officer was younger, maybe in his late twenties, two inches taller than Bruce and with small dark green eyes that wouldn't quite meet his eyes.

"I would like to pay Mr Stark's bail. Or the man who paid mine can."

The officer looked uneasily from him to Stark; clearly unaware of the adequate mode to proceed. He motioned for Stark to get out of the holding cell after a moment, seeming to have decided he'd rather get in trouble with his boss than with two billionaire heirs.

With a sloppy grin, Tony threw his arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Brucie, Brucie, Brucie. You're a sweetheart, you know that? I can just tell this is the beginning of a beautiful _friendship_."

As the officer ordered them to walk through the hallway with him, Bruce tried to shrug Stark's arm off his shoulder to no avail. He seemed to be leaning most of his weight on him as they walked, making Bruce clench his teeth as he supported him. He was already starting to regret bailing him out.

"We definitely should have called Lexy and Ollie. Get the whole gang together, you know. Maybe next time?"

**OoOoO**

* * *

**a/n: I guess there could be the question of how two very powerful, very rich guys end up arrested for something so small, but I think it's safe to say that even though Bruce is still a Wayne, he is still a minor and without his parents and only Alfred at his side, there's no one powerful enough and who cares to pull the right strings. As for Tony, I'm not sure how it was handled in canon, but I think his parents' dead is what pushed him to drink, or at least boosted his drinking problem. So, since it happened -almost a year ago- Tony has taken to get in his private jet at any given moment, and take off aimlessly, without telling anyone, and getting drunk wherever he ends up, so Obadiah and whoever else could help him don't even know where he is. And like Bruce concluded, he pissed off someone big in Gotham.**

**Lastly, this is unbetaed and I'm not a native speaker, so feel free to point out any mistake you may find.**


End file.
